


Sacrifice

by TevinterJunkie



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Canon Divergent, Disabled Character, Kin fic, LGBT, M/M, Original Characters - Freeform, addinf tags later hehe, could be “problematic” in the future depending on how far I take it, gay cullen rutherford, idk depends on what yall think lol, lol, long fic, mage rights!!!, mute character, slowish burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 17:01:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21871756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TevinterJunkie/pseuds/TevinterJunkie
Summary: Rethulien wish he knew why he had to be born this way. 'This way’ described more than one thing. Mute. Dalish. Mage. Born at all, sometimes, if he felt bad enough. But, it happened for a reason, just like why he was put into the Tower. Wasn't there a reason for that? Though he wanted to see the outside world, wanted to see what it was like—as he couldn't remember, being more or less torn away from his clan when he was only three—he was in the Circle for a reason. Maybe one day he would figure that out.
Relationships: Cullen Rutherford/Male Warden
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	1. Harrowing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He only had five months left before his Harrowing, and it wasn't like he was worried sick or anything, but...he was worried nonetheless. He didn't show it much, always smiling, always attentive, but every single time he was alone, he was always thinking about it—the stories he had been hearing about it in repeat since he was little, just introduced to the Circle, frightened him, normally. He only seemed to hear the stories of the occasions when the Harrowing has went wrong, or maybe that was the only stories he was letting himself remember. He wasn't sure, and didn't want to be, but it was hard to talk about the Harrowing process and results without talking to a First Enchanter or likewise, though they most likely wouldn't explain the difficulties and usually negative results they've had in the past to their natural extreme; most likely, they would fabricate to their best extent of positively ending Harrowings…or fabricate them entirely. He didn't want to be lied to just so he wouldn't stress as much. If he had to stress, he wanted to go ahead and get the anxiety out of his system before the process even began to take place.

Five months. 

He only had five months left before his Harrowing, and it wasn't like he was worried sick or anything, but...he was worried nonetheless. He didn't show it much, always smiling, always attentive, but every single time he was alone, he was always thinking about it—the stories he had been hearing about it in repeat since he was little, just introduced to the Circle, frightened him, normally. He only seemed to hear the stories of the occasions when the Harrowing has went wrong, or maybe that was the only stories he was letting himself remember. He wasn't sure, and didn't want to be, but it was hard to talk about the Harrowing process and results without talking to a First Enchanter or likewise, though they most likely wouldn't explain the difficulties and usually negative results they've had in the past to their natural extreme; most likely, they would fabricate to their best extent of positively ending Harrowings…or fabricate them entirely. He didn't want to be lied to just so he wouldn't stress as much. If he had to stress, he wanted to go ahead and get the anxiety out of his system before the process even began to take place. Though, asking other mages, would be proven to be difficult as well, since most of the mages either haven't been through it or didn't want to talk about it. 

No matter what, asking would be difficult; Rethulien couldn't speak, and going through the trouble of approaching even relative strangers with a sheet of paper and quill would become tiring. They wouldn't have the time to spare with him anyways. No one did, except a few mages, though most and if not all of the others understood he couldn't speak. And it wasn't like they were mean to him, either, since he tried to be as nice as he could be, with hardly another choice even if he wasn't a happy person. It was just hard to develop strong relationships if you didn't have a tongue that spoke. 

Rethulien wish he knew why he had to be born this way. 'This way’ described more than one thing. Mute. Dalish. Mage. Born at all, sometimes, if he felt bad enough. But, it happened for a reason, just like why he was put into the Tower. Wasn't there a reason for that? Though he wanted to see the outside world, wanted to see what it was like—as he couldn't remember, being more or less torn away from his clan when he was only three—he was in the Circle for a reason. Maybe one day he would figure that out. 

Today wasn't that day, no, but he did have some studying to do. Every little thing counted.

It was around noon when he found his way to the library, passing by a class of children lead by who he recalled was an elder mage named Wynne, who paid him a quick nod as he crossed over the section of bookcases they were cubbied in. There was hardly any one in the library, so it was quiet other than the sound of her voice echoing the tall-hooded chamber. He went over to one of the towering bookshelves and scans one of the higher shelves from on his tiptoes, even, being tall already, before finding the book he was need and pulling it down. It was a pretty hefty book, but it would have been fine to just bounce back on his feet as he brought it down, if only he hadn't pulled another book down with the hard cover rubbing against its being ragged on. 

He saw it coming down too late, having managed to get the one book he actually wanted in his hands, looking back up to see where the other book was—briefly, right above his head, hovering, before being slid back onto the shelving in it’s proper place by a bare hand that extended from a chainmail painted arm. He had almost assumed it had been Jowan, or another mage, perhaps, but…

“Is that the only book you need?” A kind, smoothly accented voice asked him, fingers still tracing lightly with stubby but clean nails over the binding of the book that had fallen, now sitting still on the shelf. He blinked up at it warily before turning around. 

Bright, golden-brown eyes, and pasty honey locks, curly and short, layered down with oil and pushed back out of his eyes. He had a dusty scruff on his jaw, and slight bags under his eyes, but he smiled to the elf nonetheless, which was rare, very rare, in the Coven, for a Templar, at least, but...he didn't seem to be someone that he had ever seen before. Now, Rethulien remembered something about new recruits that were supposed to be coming in early in the week, so he must have been one of the arrivals. 

Rethulien nodded in both thanks and agreement, eyes falling low to glance down at his book. Yes, this was the one, he decided after checking the first page. A volume of the Elvhen language, the second one he was going through. Even though he couldn't speak, he wished to better understand it so he could read another section of books that were written in Elvhen as well as be able to listen in on the Dalish storytelling that usually occurred every Full Moon, which could be seen from the sitting hall right under the floor for the Templar dormitories, most likely implemented as a design choice so no one would go absolutely insane. It was a large, circular window at the top of the tower than shone down for two floors, but nothing else—no other windows that would tell him where they could be. No one could see the outside world. Ever. And that was the horrible part of being in the Circle...one of them. He wondered if Templars got windows—

The Templar before him glanced down at the book, still standing in front of him. “You don't already speak Elvhen?” He asked him, and honestly, sounding a little curious. Rethulien stared at him a couple of moment with wide, green eyes before shaking his head, blinking a couple of times. Well, somewhat, that true. “Oh, I just thought—because of the…” The man pointed at his own face and gestured around his cheekbones area, referencing the markings on Rethulien’s cheeks; two elongated S-Shaped curves framing his face along with two short slashes over the middle of each side, illustrated in a soft brown. 

He shook his head again, shutting the book and hugging it to his chest awkwardly as the Templar dropped his hand to the side. It was almost like the both of the felt the tension in both of their eyes and they looked at each other without words for a couple of seconds, before the Templar slowly chuckled, “Sorry, I’m afraid I do not know much about Elvhen...anything. Or mages, for that matter.” He paused. “I do think it’s all very interesting, in the least.” 

Rethulien stared at him for a couple more seconds, blinking. He tried to smile a little, unsure of anything else to do. The Templar wasn't leaving him alone—though it wasn't completely unwelcoming—and he was just mostly confused as to why the man was talking to him in the first place. All the other Templars paid him no mind, usually always had something negative to say about the mages, especially the Elves. But this one seemed to be a special case.

The man scratched the back of his neck. “I, uh...sorry again, I forgot...my name is—”

“Rutherford!” A snark voice heavily called across the once quiet library. The class session hushed, and Rethulien flinched, hold tightening on his book. The Templar’s eyes ripped from him and over to their sideline, just as Lucius walked up, nearly stomping, with his arms crossed over his thick breastplate. That was a voice and a face that he remembered well, and in all seriousness, he wished he didn't, and that was saying something. Rethulien hardly ever held anything against anyone, even the Templars. 

Lucius was one of the higher-ups, and the commanding type, even in situations where he didn't need to be. It wasn't too much to say that he didn't like mages all that well, and certainly didn't like to socialize with them. Though, he wouldn't credit him for the stigma that Templars and Mages shouldn't be seen speaking together, or speak to each other in general, but he was a happy abider of the rule and stayed as far away as he could from them when possible, unless he was getting on to them, and he loved to enforce it whenever he could. Lucius, on the other hand, wasn't too bad. He did keep quiet most of the time and stay himself to himself, but he was still an asshole when he didn't. Lucius had ever only gotten on to him once, so he didn't have much to say about him otherwise, didn't know if he would call him an abuser of power or not, since it was only because he had stayed around in the library for too long without realizing. He was pretty indignant and focused heavily on his speechlessness, which did sting a little bit as Rethulien could not even retort back, which was probably for the best. 

Rutherford straightened up his posture, arms pressing flat against his sides. “Yes, sir?” His voice became a bit hollow now, surprising Rethulien a bit more. He was different from other Templars. He's, very different, as a first, since he wasn't the slightest bit unappetized by the differences paralleled between them. 

“What are you doing idling around in here?” Lucius demanded instantly, eyeing down Rutherford with emerald swords, biting his bottom lip that always looked like it had just been stung by a bee, whatever that was. “You are supposed to be on your post. You have been shown it several times—”

“I was just on my way, passing through.” He shot back, though his voice was still wavering as he slid his hands up and behind his back, hooking and crossing over his arch. “I stopped to help...him.” He mentioned over to Rethulien, who shrunk back a little more, eyes falling again. He didn't want to be included in this situation.

There was a brief pause, and it nearly knocked the wind out of all the Tower. “...sir.”

Lucius watched him for another moment before shaking his head. “Yes, I saw you. And then I saw you proceed to chat.” He huffed. “Do not fraternize, Rutherford. You were told this many times as well. Just get the hell to your post and stay there. Focus.” 

Rutherford looked quite like a kicked puppy...again, no clue what that looked like, nor did he want to. He had seen puppies before, but those were Templar Mabari-pups. He still hoped they didn't get kicked either. 

The two men watched each other for another second before Rutherford nodded and brushed past Lucius, heading over to the far exit that Rethulien had came in through. He didn't say anything to him, or even look back at him, so that brief care that he had felt...completely diminish. There was nothing friendly in the aura of Lucius that he was left in…

“You have your Harrowing soon. Months, but soon.” 

Rethulien’s eyes flickered back up to Lucius, slowly, carefully, as if it was wrong and shameful to lay eyes upon him. The man didn't seem angry at him, just still, there remained a pout—but it was always like that, his resting face. 

The elf nodded. The human’s arms fell down to his sides. He pointed to the book. “If anything, you should be studying about the Harrowing. Not a language you can never use.” Rethulien felt slight anger rise within him, but it was more so the flame of despair and truth licking at his eyes. Shoddy, shit confidence. But Lucius was right about that, he should be studying for the Harrowing. “I'm sure you understand the Harrowing is not a joke. It's dangerous. There's no time to...listen to small-talk with someone, especially a Templar. He has better things to do. Just…” He began to walk away, turning on his head, stopping to look back at him. “...get ready, is all I can tell you. If you desire respect...and to live. You should.” 

Lucius left and Rethulien felt so weak that he would've dropped his book if he hadn't felt a hand lay over it. His head swiveled, more out of exhaustion than it was of surprise—but it was Jowan, finally, his silvery cyan eyes scanning him over, dark hair tucked behind his ears. 

“Don't listen to him, you're ready.” He brushed everything off for Rethulien, though he failed, only trying to. Rethulien knew that he would be thinking about this for weeks, right up to the Harrowing itself...but maybe it was a good thing. Lucius sounded worried, if only slightly. But he knew he really wasn't. “You can read your book.” 

Rethulien stared at him for a couple of moments before nodding, going over to a table with Jowan and pulling out a chair with him, sitting. He sat his book on the table and began to flip through it, hands shaking ever so meekly as he passed a couple of chapters, increasing in nervousness as he went—Jowan placed a hand over one of his, soft palm covering his knuckles. 

“Hey, calm down…” He softly advised, hand remaining where it was until Rethulien’s hands quit their quivering and he was able to flip again. Slowly sliding off, rubbing against his wrist and tracing down his arm that extended out of his shifted sleeve…”You’re okay. Unless you want me to study the Harrowing with you, we could do that.”

Jowan was a mage, yes, but...he had never been assigned to take his Harrowing. He was older than Rethulien was, and had been born inside the Tower, unlike the elf. Even so, he had never been told a date, never been called. He was still waiting, but...everyone else his age had long since taken it, at least several years before. It was usually taken when one was twenty years of age, and Jowan was nearing thirty. Though he wasn't called to take the Harrowing yet, for whatever strange reason it was, Jowan was known to have read every book in their collection that just so much as mentioned it briefly, as if studying more about it would save him his spot. It was suspicious that he wasn't told to take it yet, and there were certain rumours about him that Rethulien knew was wrong. However, Jowan would be able to help with it, maybe distinguish some fears...or cause them to flame up again. 

Rethulien shook his head and Jowan shrugged. “Okay.” He leant back in his chair, looking as comfortable as he could get reclining on solid wood. “Maybe another time.”

The elf looked over Jowan a few more moments before going to his page, which he had bookmarked mentally, and began to study again. 

It proved to be a rather lame attempt at doing so, and it felt like he was internally beating a dead horse, which was his brain. It was too full of things to think about. The Harrowing, Rutherford, Lucius’s words, Jowan...Jowan was sitting there beside him and watching him stare down the same word for a couple of minutes. Slowly, he reached over and shut the book, a hand laying against his shoulder. 

“It's time for you to take a break. There's still some time before dinner. Let's go upstairs.” 

Rethulien felt the warmth from the man’s hand begin to spread through his body, but his hand was removed before he could really revel in it. That...was for the best. His advances in the last couple of years had meant nothing, anyhow, and Jowan just seemed to be teasing them for it. He knew he would never really do that, though. 

He nodded, standing up with Jowan and pushing his chair back in. He forgot the book at the table and followed behind the other mage as the went to enter the hall and go up the stairs. He didn't see Rutherford, so his post must be elsewhere...he wondered how often he’d see him. Half of him didn't want to. Half of him wished he was there with the both of them right then, and he wasn't even sure why.


	2. My Friend the Enemy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rethulien shrugged, smiling down at the tiles, completely golden, like how the shemlen’s Makers streets would be, in the afterlife. He didn't know much about that, but if this was the afterlife, it was surely Heaven there with Cullen—but was there a Heaven in which Templars and Mages coexisted together? He hoped.

It was a couple of days later. Not much had really happened in the Tower, per usual, but something just felt a little different. It was later in the day, again, and Rethulien had entered the sorting room where deliveries arrived. They had been chosen to work on certain days, and thankfully together, though Jowan did work across the room from him. Rethulien still worked beside a couple of friends who chattered a ton, so he never really felt all that lonely. 

He grabbed one of the packages and began to unwrap it as he listened to Josie go on about how much she hated lifting the larger boxes but had to since she was much stronger than the others. It didn't matter to her, though, since she was very lazy. He nodded ever so often to his braided, brown-haired human friend as he began to take out the individual vials of ink and set them aside in a tray. 

His eyes fluctuated over to Jowan on the other side of the room, who had been asked by one of the chefs near the workroom area to help sharpen some knives. He watched him as he worked, carefully repairing the blade, hand gripped so easily in the hilt, and it fit in his hand. They were never allowed anything sharp in the Circle, and nothing ever like a knife, of course. He wasn't even being supervised by the chef, who had his back turned to him...but he was trustworthy. Everyone knew that. 

His velvety hair cut across the side of his face, straight and silky. He smiled softly to himself, a thin but beautiful line. His eyes were attentive to his work. 

Unlike Rethulien's, when he realized that a bottle of the ink hadn't touched down in the tray, and began to drop. His eyes flashed back down, heart getting catched in his chest, lumping, trying to shove itself back in its cage as it had been unrelentlessly traversing against the room and over to Jowan, who didn't even care to notice him looking—but the bottle was caught by a sweeping hand, which cupped around it, and brought it back up, handing it back over to Rethulien. Hands brushing against each other, and especially surprising—Rutherford’s hands were smoother than Jowans. 

“Oh!” The man let out under his breath as he returned it to him. He smiled down at him again, teeth still sheathed behind his lips, though it was fairly certain that they were pearly white. “Andaran Antis’han. I...am sure that I butchered that.”

And he did, but of course Rethulien didn't want to let him know. He shook his head and smiled, putting the thankfully unharmed vial where it belonged and halting his work just for a brief second so he could pay attention to Rutherford and not have to worry about messing up again. 

The Templar stared at him for another moment before he began to speak again, hands meeting at his own high waist. “I, well, didn't get to finish my introduction the other day.” He referenced, nearly eager to. “My name is Cullen Rutherford. Please just call me Cullen.” 

Rethulien nodded. It didn't really matter, anyhow. 

“So, uh, what's your name?” He asked Rethulien, and that's when the elf finally paled. Oh no, a verbal question...he turned to look for Josie—she was lugging her empty crate off along with his other friends. No one else was at the table. He felt the seconds pass by before he looked back at Cullen, and...Jowan sat down a small tray of the knives down on the table with a loud clatter, right in front of the chef before turning around to face Cullen. 

“His name is Rethulien.” Jowan said this rather blankly, and it was a bit frightening, as he didn't seem all that pleased that Cullen was even speaking to him. The Templar even seemed a bit taken aback by this, which was again, strange, since Templars usually would get mad at something like this, even a slight change of tone. 

“Oh.” Cullen cuckooed again, swallowing a lump down his throat. He was obviously confused as to why Rethulien hadn’t answered himself, eyes scanning him over and over and over. Jowan about had enough of it, he seemed, going to stand closer by Rethulien’s side. 

“He's mute. He can't speak back to you.” He flattened again, and now it was Cullen that paled at this, but more in realization than in panic. He looked over Rethulien a bit more, frowning. 

“...oh.” he let out again, sighing. “I'm sorry about that, I didn't know.” 

That much was true—nothing was Cullen’s fault at all. He hadn't done anything wrong regardless, but he looked like he had, they way he looked so deflated like he did. Jowan was nearly glaring at him now, which...honestly, it scared Rethulien too. He never made that face. He was never angry at anyone. Why so suddenly? Maybe it was just because Cullen was a Templar and he was irrationally worried about him. 

Jowan took another long look over Cullen before walking away again, a glint of silver in his robe pocket. 

Cullen watched him leave and his hands slipped down to his sides, nervously fiddling with the time of his breastplate, tracing it as he thought. He took a moment before looking back to Rethulien. 

“Yeah, I'm sorry about that.” He repeated, now that Jowan wasn't there even silently judging his honest apology. “To be frank, I wasn't sure why you weren't responding to me, but...yeah, that makes sense now.” He began to ramble a little bit, rubbing the back of his neck again. Obviously, a quirk of his. 

Rethulien slowly reached out a hand to touch Cullen’s arm. He wasn't sure why, and wasn't sure if it was a good idea, because it most likely wasn't. Still, he just left his hand there for a couple of seconds before Cullen’s arm slowly lowered, and he pulled his hand back and placed it on the edge of the table with his other one, pruned nails curving into the winding, pale wood as his upper half twisted to look up at Cullen expectantly. It was okay, don't worry. Don't worry so much. You're not supposed to worry at all. 

Cullen breathed out heavily now, calmed down by just a single touch. He pretended like he didn't even get nervous in the first place, straightening his posture. “Anyhow…” he cleared his throat, glancing around. Jowan had left the room. Rethulien wondered if he was mad with him, too. Maybe. That would be an absolute first. “I had better get going. I'll see you.”

He nodded to Rethulien and left the room. Rethulien noticed that this couldn't have been his post in the first place, since he left whilst they were still working, and there were already a couple of Templars scattered here and there, all overseeing their own stations. Why was he even in there? 

Later on, he was heading on to bed, to the huge, packed dormitory room that he shared with at least fifty other mages. He passed by the usual guard post and went to the doorway before hearing himself being issued a “Goodnight.” Glancing over he saw Cullen nod over to him before twisting his head back around, turning attentive again.

He smiled. He...could get used to this strange, original, and forbidden kindness.

And they were friends. It took a good couple of meetings along the span of a week, but they finally got more comfortable with each other. Cullen stopped embarrassing himself, too much, and Rethulien figured out that Cullen was just a weird Templar. He didn't act like one too much, but it showed that he really cared about being one. He talked about Ferelden a lot, always smiling about it. Explaining where he was from, chatting about his family. Rethulien wished he could speak as well, try to relate, but he didn't have a Homeland that he could remember. A couple of words here and there. Dales, Halla, Trees, Clan. Templars. And that was all. 

Cullen began to be more comfortable with the fact that Rethulien couldn't speak, though he did accidentally ask questions sometimes. They were never in a place where Rethulien could write out the answers, and nages were only given a certain share of paper, ink and quill in a set of months, and they had to use the rations for their classes, too. Rethulien never really had classes anymore, since he was older. He did attend a couple of seminars by the elder mages, but that was sparse, as they were busy with spring cleaning and teaching the children, things like that.

It was on one of those lazy days that Rethulien found himself standing against the wall with Cullen at his side, directly at his post. A couple of mages walked past in small pairs, and only a few separate Templars crossed the hall. Otherwise, it was mostly just the two of them alone. It was silent, and Cullen did not speak too much, but when he did his voice was soft and calm and rather soothing as Rethulien more or less pretended to read the smaller, light book he held in his right hand, his left side against Cullen’s right, hands dangling near each other’s, occasionally clasping together when no one was in the hall.

It was a normal thing to Rethulien, holding hands. He held hands with Jowan, who had lightened up recently towards the both of them, more so Rethulien than Cullen, but he didn't know. Cullen was strangely alright with it, though, just a bit more watchful, so it was nice. Maybe he could help him focus. He did like feeling his own smaller, thinner hand in Cullen's softer and bigger one, cocooning his hand inside his gentle grasp. Almost graceful.

They'd started doing this only the day before. It was on accident; Rethulien had walked by to visit Cullen whilst Jowan was overseeing a class in the library in place of an older teacher who was sick. The elf perched against the wall with him where he was on post outside of the dormitories, accidentally a bit closer than he had originally intended. It wasn't long before Cullen lowered his arm from where it had been tucked behind his back and they brushed hands. Rethulien admittedly found it humourous how bashful Cullen became. However, they had to remain close to speak quietly, knowing that the man might get reprimanded for being too loud on duty, and maybe even talking at all if a Templar walked by. So they compromised. Still, Rethulien wondered if he was a Templar, if it would be okay for him to listen to him then. Most likely.

Today, Cullen’s shift was going to be short, and he’d be moving to the second floor to oversee the workroom. Rethulien wanted to go with him, but the other man was a bit worried that the elf would get in trouble for walking with him, especially with no job to do that day. He planned to just sit out in the sun room until lunch call. He decided just to wait and see and slowly follow behind him, though he wanted to walk right beside him. It was a strange, sudden attraction that was growing. He felt safe around Cullen. He'd never felt safe around a Templar before. 

Cullen was speaking to him about nugs when the door to the hall opened. Rethulien glanced over and felt his heart pull, even more so as Cullen took his hand away rather in a flash. It was Lucius, but he was still looking back into the other hall, talking to a small cluster of Templars standing about together. 

The Templar beside him faultered for a moment before touching Rethulien’s arm, glancing down at him briefly before his eyes went back to Lucius, still chattering. 

“Go,” he began, and Rethulien briefly felt like a quarter of his heart was being ate by his body. “Go into the other hall and wait for me. Lucius is assigning my post.” 

Rethulien took a moment to render what he said and nodded enthusiastically before scurrying down to the other end of the hall and ducking behind the doorway on the other side, standing against that wall, his hands at his waist. He still felt Cullen’s warmth on his hand; his own skin felt softer, as if it had been melted. He wondered if it smelled like rubbed-on cologne—it was a rarity that mages got something like that, but he assumed it was a common material item for Templars to have. He was looking at his palm as he heard Lucius speak. 

“Rutherford.” There were footsteps. 

“Yes, sir?” 

“Those men told me interesting things; I'm assuming it's not true.” Lucius paused. “...by the looks of things currently.” Rethulien furrowed his thin brows, his head twisting to hear the conversation better, honing his ears. 

“What do you mean?” Cullen asked back, a bit quicker than it was obvious he had meant. “...sir.” 

Lucius chuckled lowly, a couple more steps. “I'm sure you know. Just go to your next post. They're waiting on you.”

A short moment of silence passed before Cullen began to walk again to the doorway where Rethulien was standing. He nodded to him and began to walk away, and as they did, Rethulien felt Lucius glare daggers into his backside. He kept his head low, not like it mattered. There was nothing for Lucius to be suspicious about, since it was obvious that something even in the slightest was going on. 

Cullen led him to the stairway, which the both of them boarded, the Templar going ahead of him. The traversed it rather quickly, as the next level wasn't too far up, and he held open the door for Rethulien, who sauntered inside, turning and waiting for Cullen. The man shut the door behind the two of them and went to open the next from the winding hall they found themselves in again, like the one of the story below them, perfectly exact—the door was thankfully right in front of them. 

The two of them entered the main room. As downstairs would contain a library, upstairs was a smaller hallway-like halve, adjacent to the one across from it. There was only a couple of bookshelves here, but those were used for storage crates that were small enough to platform on it. There were about five tables dotted about the room, as well as chairs and assorted knickknacks. There were tinkering tools and all the like—this was the workroom that Rethulien had been in the week before. That's what the second level was all about. The room was cleared except for a couple of workers that were gathering boxes to bring down to the kitchen for supper. 

Cullen brought the mage all the way to the other side of the room, where another door awaited them. The two entered this room as well, which was a round room at the center of the tower. 

There were too many people in there at the moment, no other Templar either, since it was supposed to be Cullen’s new post. Must have just left, since they didn't allow the mages to be alone for much longer. Especially with easy access to tools and supplies. There were only a few mages, as well as a couple Tranquil, who stood about watching over then labourings solemnly, silently. They only spoke when the had to. 

Cullen didn't go directly over to the slot of the wall where he would stand for a good hour or more, depending. Instead, he went with Rethulien over to the small sitting area in the middle of the room. This was usually used for visitors or overseers, but the both of them sat down, the eyes of the Tranquil almost flemishing with flame as they saw the mage—the calmed at the sight of the Templar, as everything must be settled, no matter how friendly they appeared together. They hardly had the mind to find it strange, sad enough. 

Rethulien felt happy. If he looked up, he could see the sky–from here there was a huge gap towards the top of the tower. You could see the Templar Quarters above, the wooden railing encircling the open walls, so they could look down as well as see the sun itself. Though, they had windows in their rooms, windows that could see into the outside world, and just not the sky above. If Orzammar Dwarves could be mages, this was a spot they would surely avoid. 

The sun shone down on him, even though it was now dying, tainting the sky a hellish red and orange, but coating his skin with dimming gold, dusting across the space between him and Cullen, tracing up the chair, and connecting him with the other man as they smiled wordlessly at each other. Cullen didn't need to say anything, because he felt it—and it was such an odd thing to even know that a Templar could be happy for him, but he could read it in his eyes. Chocolate brown, wide, and watchful, but not in the sense as the other Templars. He trusted Rethulien, and he cared about Rethulien. The mage wasn't so dull as to see this. He didn't feel self-righteous, either. 

The Templar opened his mouth a chap, taking in a solid, cool breath as his eyes torn away from Rethulien. “...you know, I could find a way for you to come sit up here more often.” He paused. “If you want to. You seem like you enjoy it.”

Rethulien shrugged, smiling down at the tiles, completely golden, like how the shemlen’s Makers streets would be, in the afterlife. He didn't know much about that, but if this was the afterlife, it was surely Heaven there with Cullen—but was there a Heaven in which Templars and Mages coexisted together? He hoped. 

The man in his thoughts leant back against the chair and continued to watch him, although his eyes did falter a couple of times to glance about the room, just checking before he actually would have to stand to go to his post, especially if another Templar came up. That wasn't likely. Usually, only a singular guard would be posted in this room, as it was mainly for Tranquil. More would be in the workroom if there were to be anything done that day, and they would rather travel the round outer hall than to cut across through two extra rooms. 

Cullen fell a bit more quiet, his voice lowering so none of the Tranquil nor the still-gifted stragglers would hear him. “I don't understand why they don't allow any of you windows, outward ones.” He frowned. “I don't see what harm it would do.”

Of course he didn't. He’d been on the outside before. He could go on the outside whenever he wanted. But Rethulien couldn't remember anything about the outside world. He was born in the woods, apparently, amongst thick-scented pine and tall, fluttering grass. Sounds of woodpeckers and scurrying of nugs. Moving place to place in a camp, with people like him—he was the only mage, he had heard from the First Enchanter. That his clan was still out there. He couldn't be for certain. Sometimes, he felt like he could see blood on his skin, though he couldn't be for certain as to why. He was surely unable to feel the sun beaming on him anywhere else from this window. The memories were never there, and they would never return. 

If he saw the outside, he would want to go. He was sure the other mages would feel the same. However, most of them could remember being out there—the older mages. There were children purely born into the tower, and Rethulien felt so bad for them. He himself felt blessed to have been born in the outside world, even if he couldn't remember it. It felt a little bit selfish too. 

It was just the Templars being paranoid. Just the Templars being cruel. Any of those things. Even though the White Spire, the Magi Circle Tower in Val Royeux, had windows for the mages to see out of, as much as he had heard about it, the soldiers in this tower decided that it would be too risky, claimed that they would conspire rebellion, not like they wouldn't, and haven't, already. But the Templar beside him was different, so different. He wasn't paranoid or cruel, wanting something good for a mage. 

Rethulien looked over to him and they caught eyes. He blinked a couple times before looking back down, biting his bottom lip. Still felt weird. Just so odd. He wondered if Cullen felt the same. It was difficult to tell, as Templars were so hard to read, if not impossible, though Cullen was again, faltered from the crowd of them all. 

There was a span of silence drafted over them like a pitch cold, no matter how warm they were basking in the remainder of the dying sun. After a couple of long minutes, perhaps even ten or more, Cullen began speaking again, calling Rethulien back to attention with his soft voice. 

“...do you go to the workroom any today?” Cullen asked him, his armoured hand sliding on the arm of his chair, feeling it almost anxiously. Rethulien shook his head; no, he had today off. These days off got boring, honestly. He didn't have much to do, as the Tower did not offer many choices for free time. “I guess you will be with Jowan, then?” 

Rethulien looked down at his hands. No...well, he guessed. He didn't necessarily want to. He felt sick, really, thinking about Jowan. He was still hung up on how the other man was acting towards him in regards to him hanging out with Cullen. Again, he felt like it made since...he and Jowan had been best friends since Rethulien was introduced into the Tower. Rethulien was friends with other people, like Josie, and Rosa, but Jowan was someone that had always been special to him, for more than one reason, really. Now, he felt a bit strained from those reasons. Jowan wasn't acting right. Jowan wasn't acting like Jowan, or at least was showing a side of himself that he had never let anyone else see. 

He shrugged after a moment and Cullen chewed on his bottom lip, eyes scanning over the younger man as if he could sense that something was wrong. It was silent again, and the stir of one of the Tranquil brought the both of them back to attention. Their eyes glanced over to her, the woman eying them stiffly but kindly. Cullen swallowed and went to stand, his hand gently overlaying the apprentice's as he did. 

“I think it's time for me to take my post.” He paused, moving his hand. “You...should go too. Incase anyone comes up.” Another Templar guard doing his rounds, patrolling the halls as they did. Rethulien nodded to Cullen and stood as well, hands clasping together at the waist. 

Cullen smiled to him and nodded back, eyes faltering to rip away from his enlightened figure, glowing gold in the sunlight that drained down into the room, before managing to finally walk over to his post. Rethulien watched him, then turned around himself and slowly went out of the room and into the workroom. There was a guard in here now, but he seemed to pay him no mind as he traversed across the wide room and over to the doorway. He stepped out into the hall and—

He saw metal before he felt anything.


	3. Taste of Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It hurt to tumble down stairs, Rethulien reflected, feeling the searing pain in all of his bones as he tried his best to quickly maneuver through the hallway. He was making way for the dormitories, one of his hands pressed against his side, as if he were to move it, he would lose his guts. It sure felt like it. It was hard to walk fast, regardless. He wasn't sure he would ever get there, either, his nose trickling blood down his lips, and he struggled to not get a taste of it, but he definitely smelt it.

Rethulien let out a small gasp, his hands hitting the floor, just barely stopping his head from pounding against the tile. His nails scratched against the floor as he tried to scramble up, but was stopped as someone stepped down on his back, pushing him down and holding him in place. His eyes cast upwards, darting around through the shadow of bangs falling in front of them. 

There was a Templar man, helmeted. He crossed his arms and looked down at him, though Rethulien couldn't see himps eyes even through the dark slot allowed for them. There was another man that emerged from the other side of the hall, and...the man from inside the workroom opened the door and stood behind him. What...what had he done? Was coming upstairs such a bad thing to do that he would be deserved to be thrown down to the floor? 

“Looks like we have caught ourselves a silly little mage.” Rethulien furrowed his brows. What did that mean? “You got a lot of nerve sneaking up here with nothing to do but convert that daft Cullen into a mage kisser.” 

So that's what this was about. Good to know. 

Rethulien squirmed under his heavy boot and gruffed, but soon figured out that he wasn't going anywhere else they were done with him. Whatever they were going to do, anyways. He had heard stories from a couple other mages along the years that had went through this, though it was mainly from when they were carted away from their families. Protesting was bad, so beatings were bad. Sometimes that happened here, but it usually went without notice, and the victims never wanted to talk about it. Rethulien didn't want to end up that just because of hand holding, regarding of Cullen’s or his own feelings about each other, which were unclear to himself as well. 

“What? Nothing to say for yourself?” The man barked own at him, his boot quickly moving from it’s jabbing perch to arch back and swing back down, jutting him in the side with a steel toe, hard. Rethulien let out a small cry in pain, cowering his head into his arms. He couldn't look at them any longer, hearing the other men chuckle lowly through their helmets. The man waited for a response, and when he didn't get one other than that, it seemed like he was about to repeat the process when he paused. “Wait. You're that useless one, mute, right? Damn, you’d even make a horrible Tranquil, and that's saying something.” 

Rethulien shivered. What was that supposed to mean? Though he didn't approve of the Rite, obviously, and was terrified of it, he wouldn't go as far to say anything bad about those who were made into one. They were once wonderful, smart mages. Now they were just blank casks that proceed helpful when they were instructed to. He didn't want to be one...but he had friends that were, like Owain, in the stockroom. At least he figured they were friends. Could never be sure, since Tranquil never express person feelings anyhow. 

He would've spit on the Templar’s free foot if he had the guts, or the chance, since a gauntlet was now yanking him by the back and onto his feet. Rethulien didn't have time to react before he felt another collide with his face, and he cried again, stumbling back against the wall. Feeling an extremely sharp pain in his nose, which smelt of blood, and on the left side of his face, vibrating against his cheekbone, he tried to run forward to run past the Templar in front of him, try to make it behind the door to get down into the stairwell—the Templar stepped aside, opened the door, and one of the men kicked him in the lower back, shoving him forward by his waist. 

It hurt to tumble down stairs, Rethulien reflected, feeling the searing pain in all of his bones as he tried his best to quickly maneuver through the hallway. He was making way for the dormitories, one of his hands pressed against his side, as if he were to move it, he would lose his guts. It sure felt like it. It was hard to walk fast, regardless. He wasn't sure he would ever get there, either, his nose trickling blood down his lips, and he struggled to not get a taste of it, but he definitely smelt it. 

He averted his eyes to everyone that passed, the apprentices eying him warily, wondering what just did he do wrong to get punished such as this, even as an illegal punishment. It was easy to ignore them as he cared for nothing more than wiping up is nose, checking for scratches and scrapes, and going to lay down until he had to get up again. He wasn't sure he wanted to eat lunch or dinner, at all.

Then there was Lucius. He passed by him, his own head low, not sure if it was just a regular Templar guard or not, but he didn't want to look to make sure. He didn't have to, as the man began to call out to him. 

“Hey.” His voice cut through the silent air. There was a shifting of metal. “You, Rethulien.”

Rethulien kept walking for a second before he stopped. He didn't need to get in anymore trouble, though he heavily and extremely doubted that Lucius would ever do anything like this to him. He slowly turned back around to face him, though he wanted to run. The dormitories were just over there…

The Templar clicked his jaw, looking down at him with daggered eyes, though it wasn't about his wanting to avoid him. He studied his face in a brief moment before his head whipped back down the hall in the direction from which he came. Rethulien raised a hand a little, reaching out to Lucius’s gauntlet, but he didn't make contact with it. 

“Those fucking pricks.” Lucius confirmed to himself, eyes glancing back down to Rethulien before shifting. “You can go on. Don't worry, I will deal with this.”

Rethulien furrowed his brows, frowning deeper, creating dimples. He anxiously shuffled away, head twisted back to watch as Lucius inelegantly and unprofessionally stomp back down the hall. He cowarded his arms inwards towards the flat of his chest, backing up and pushing his hip against the door to the dormitories, and pushing it open with his weight. He slowly came back to himself and used his hand to gently lower it before standing against it again on the opposite side. 

No one was in the dormitories, it seemed. It was noon by now. They had probably all flocked to lunch or work. He sighed out of his nose and went to the left, towards the back room. It was lit by a couple of candles, since again they were not allowed the majesty of the outside day to brighten the rooms naturally. It produced a red glow on the stark grey walls, illuminating crumbled lumps of bricks separately instead of whole. He kept his head low until he found a vanity, carefully sitting down as to not disturb the ache and catch in his side as he looked back up into the foggy mirror. 

Yeah, that showed. He slowly reached up to touch his cheek, cringing at the vivid purple developing over the bone under the skin. He sighed shortly, lowering his hand back to the flat on the table. About to stand up and go over to the bed, he buckled as his eyes met another’s in the mirror in front of him. 

Anders stood near the dormitories entrance, looking over to him in curiosity. He lowered his head, his hand clenching into a small fist. He knew that there would be no getting out of this situation now, as the man would be ever so persistent that it would be much better just to sit there and let it happen. The other mage walked up to him, a bit confused. From that far away, he probably couldn't see what his face looked like, but was still concerned that Rethulien was in here alone. 

“Hey.” The man said, leaning his head over a bit to try to get a better look at him. “What are you—look at me.” 

Rethulien raised his head and Anders buckled. He frowned, instantly taking a seat beside him on the bench. “What the hell happened to you? Did you get in a fight?” He reached over to touch his face, his thumb brushing his cheek where a deep purple bruise had fully formed. “That’s not like you.”

Rethulien shook his head, but technically it had been a one sided fight, since he certainly did not want any part in it. He couldn’t tell Anders this unless he wrote it down, and he’d refuse to. He didn’t need to know. However, Rethulien knew what to expect from his friend. He would somehow manage to find out. 

Anders eventually moved his hand away and got up, going back into the chamber. From under his bedding he pulled out a sachet and came back. He didn’t take long to apply a salve to the scratches on his face and begin to try and heal him with magic he exacted from his fingertips. “It’s weak, but this should help….” Anders whispered quietly to him before tucking the salve back into the sachet and putting it to the side. He looked back at him and frowned deeply. “I do wish you’d tell me what happened. Or, uhm...you know.”

Rethulien frowned back and slowly lowered his head, looking down to his lap as he played with his hands nervously. Anders slowly moved his hands to Rethulien’s, holding them within his own warm ones, squeezing softly. “You can trust me, Rethulien. I won’t tell anyone.”

The elf paused and took in a breath, looking back up at himself in the mirror. The bruises and scratches were still noticeable but they hurt a lot less, and faded out. He looked back to Anders, trying to figure out how to tell him -- he ended up making a Templar salute notion, figuring it would get across quickly.

And it did. Anders bolted to his feet, hands tightening at his sides angrily. “I’m going to kill them.”

Rethulien instantly got up as well, letting out a soft noise in surprise. He expected Anders to be angry. The other man hated Templars. That was why Rethulien never told him about Cullen, afraid he’d try to get Rethulien away from him, or be angry with Rethulien, much like Jowan, and Rethulien didn’t want to grow apart from another friend because...because of his feelings.

“Who were they? Can you remember their faces?” Anders asked, stepping a little closer to him. “Or were they cowards and kept their helmets on? Psh, I bet they were…” He grumbled, growling a little and looking off towards the door. He began towards it, planning to go see someone, anyone in charge to complain about this. Rethulien scurried behind him sheepishly and tugged him a little by his sleeve, getting him to stop. Anders peered back at him worriedly. “Rethulien, we can’t--”

He droned off, noticing Rethulien’s shy expression as he looked down to the ground again. Anders sighed, moving closer to gently cup Rethulien’s upper arms, rubbing them softly. “....we can’t let you get hurt like this. It’s not right. You did nothing wrong to deserve this and I know it.”

Rethulien wanted to disagree. If Anders only knew the truth, maybe he’d reconsider his side. Maybe Rethulien shouldn’t be in love with a Templar. He knew that was what the feeling was, but he could hardly find himself to care. He went his whole life in a tower and the only Templar to show him explicit care and friendship was Cullen. He knew what he felt and he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop. He loved him...but maybe he shouldn’t. 

“...I’m…” Anders took in another breath letting go of his and looking off. “...I’m just going to tell someone that can resolve this. Does anyone else know?”

Rethulien bit his lip and nodded, making an ‘L’ shape with his right hand. Anders got the message, rubbing the side of his own face. “...well, let’s hope he does something. At least he somewhat cares for order no matter how much he is also an asshole.” 

The elf nodded a little bit. Sure, he was an asshole, but it seemed like he genuinely cared for Rethulien’s wellbeing. Anders looked over Rethulien again briefly before excusing himself in a little less of a rush. Rethulien moved to sit down on the edge of his bed, playing with the skirt of his robe. His face still hurt a little but thankfully now it was dull. He was upset, but there wasn’t much he could do about it.

He wished he could go see Cullen. He always made him feel so much better, but he was a little afraid to know what his reaction would be like. He was sure he would be upset as well, though he wasn’t sure he’d be as angry as Anders. Rethulien wondered how long it would take for his face to heal. Maybe he could conceal the bruises with some of the girl’s makeup. He wasn’t sure he could show himself to him if he looked like this. 

Eventually, Rethulien’s other friends all came to know about the incident. Although he tried to hide in the bedroom chamber, Josie ended up dragging him out into the dining hall at dinner regardless. He kept his head down most of the time, a few of the other mages looking over at him curiously but they didn’t raise questions. She took him to a table with a free space and got him a plate, complying it with bread and apple slices and berries, with a little bit of chicken, before sitting it down before him. He didn’t touch it for a little but her and his other friends began to eat. It was just him, Josie, and Rosa and a few of their friends then. 

He eventually ate a couple of his berries, jaw hurting a little from where he probably had hit it on the floor. Or been kicked. Things were starting to become a blur. He looked around the large dining hall silently, taking a sip of water and nearly choking on it as soon as he met eyes with the one person he didn’t want to see right then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That’s all I got rn! Anyone want more??

**Author's Note:**

> uhmm big boobs! child anyways so,
> 
> this is mostly a kin fic but!! I noticed it was 18 pages long in Drive and felt like finally sharing what I have so far ( minus a bit that’s still wip ) bc I’m proud of it and surprised I haven’t posted any DA fics lol! What yall think?


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